


Tenuous Beta

by JayTheCappy



Series: TB's Story [1]
Category: Homestuck, MS Paint Adventures
Genre: I like it though, M/M, Test run, dont think ive ever used this writing style, no betas we die like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:26:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27954590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JayTheCappy/pseuds/JayTheCappy
Summary: I'm gonna write up TB's backstory properly but it may take a while.
Relationships: Draconian Dignitary/Jack Noir, Original Character/Draconian Dignitary
Series: TB's Story [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2097615





	1. Welcome to work

⇒ Be TB  
Your name is Typhonic Bohemian. You are a wealthy patron and occasional lab rat of the Society for Arcane Science, where you currently make your home. You are a self confessed sugar fiend and easily identifiable as a clutterbitch, to boot. Your love of pointless shiny baubles is matched only by your love for the few very dear friends you have made, and if your shelves are any indication, you really fucking love pointless shiny baubles. You have a fascination with ghosts and space which could probably be explained by a long and tragic backstory if you had one. Conveniently, you do.

You have very long black hair with a single streak of white running through it, which you frequently wear in a ponytail because you are still fairly new to having hair at all, and the skills required to braid it continue to elude you. Your skin, for the most part, is a reddish brown that you've grown to love, sprinkled with freckles across your face and shoulders that you like to find constellations in sometimes. Your right eye is a brown so dark it may as well be black, because the amount of light needed to see the color of it would leave you squinting too hard for it to be particularly charming; this would also be terrible for your right eye, which has no pigment at all and is therefore miserably sensitive to light. The eyelid, too, missed the melatonin manufacturing meeting, and doesn't help much in the blocking-out-light front. Perhaps ironically, this has left you as a very light sleeper. Thankfully you hate sleeping anyway. You have consequently formed a smoking habit that some might define as dependency, but you didn't ask for their opinion anyway.

Most days you wear a white button up shirt with a red vest and tan trousers, because habits are very easy to get into, and it saves you from having to wonder where your things are. Right pocket: spare change, smokes, and matches in a tin you're very fond of; left pocket: wallet, current journal, and a pen that you dislike which refuses to break and give you an excuse to buy another; breast pocket: handkerchief and a folded up check for use in emergencies. You also own one pair of brown leather shoes, which you hate; many pairs of thick wool socks, which you adore; and a nightshirt, which you have recently been informed is actually a nightdress and you shouldn’t wear it anymore. You plan to go and purchase several more. You own two dresses you have never worked up the nerve to wear, which is wasteful, but you’re sure that someday you’ll achieve the level of personal growth you need to wear what you like, and to calmly dissuade those who would mock you with a well-timed jab. Words or fists will do, you’re not terribly picky. But all of this comes later.

⇒ Be ?????  
you always are

⇒ ?????: Manipulate the strings of fate  
you already have

⇒ ?????: Be TB now  
Your name is Timorous Bibliophile, and you are staring down the barrel of the first day of the job that will probably get you killed. You’ll be working as personal assistant and bookkeeper to Draconian Dignitary, the third highest in command in the Kingdom of Derse, only outranked by the Black Queen on planet, and the Black King over on Skaia's battlefield. You’ve heard rumors of his short temper and penchant for violence, outstanding even by the frankly absurd standards of your home planet. You are worrying over these rumors outside of the door to his office when it slams open, nearly cracking you in the face. A very short, very angry carapacian storms out with an armful of papers, snarling to himself. You jump when he glances your way.

“What the fuck are you looking at.”

“Nothing! Sorry.” You drop your gaze, hoping that if you hunch your shoulders a little farther maybe you can collapse in on yourself and vanish.

“S’what I fucking thought,” he snarls, shouldering past you unnecessarily.

Oh good sweet stars you’re going to die.

“You can come in,” calls a voice from inside, sounding impatient and bored all at once. You snap to attention, darting inside to stand before a large desk. Behind the desk sits… well, it must be Dignitary. For all the rumors, you don’t think he looks all that scary. You thought he would be bigger, maybe. At least the size of a Rook. You’re pretty sure he’s shorter than you. Mostly, he’s just… sturdy. Kind of handsome. He looks up at you, and his sharp gaze pins you in place like an insect on display.

“You are my newest assistant.”

“Yes, I-”

“Your things will go on the desk to my left, the documents you need to transcribe are already there for you.” Then he looks back to the paper on his desk, and you understand you have been summarily dismissed.

You wander to the desk in a daze, set your bag down, and take a seat. You start your new job, and begin along the path that will lead to your own destruction.


	2. Percussion and Pitch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TB baffles DD by displaying basic civility; TB is witness to some truly egregious pitch flirting between DD and Noir.

You adjust to your new role pretty quickly, managing the books and copying any paperwork left at your desk without much fuss. Draconian Dignitary is, for all the talk, a remarkably pleasant roommate, mostly because it's very easy to forget he's there at all. He's silent, to a degree you're not sure you would have previously believed possible. He never shuffles his papers around to look back for something he's misplaced, never hums or sighs or taps his fingers (with the rare exception of when a visitor is getting on his nerves, which is usually all the warning it takes for the smarter ones to abscond). It would be fascinating if it didn't make you anxious about your own haphazard manner.  
“Um,” you say one day, looking over from your desk after catching yourself clicking your nails against it for the third time. He doesn't answer, but his posture changes slightly and you know he's listening. “You can tell me, if what I'm doing bothers you.”  
“I am aware.” You fight the desire to crawl under your desk and stay there until you die.  
“Doesn't it, then? I only thought, with you being so quiet all the time… it might bother you?” He signs the paper in front of him, shifting it to one of several neat stacks on his desks before turning to look at you over his shoulder.  
“My manner is unusual; it would be unreasonable to expect the same from others.”  
"Well- okay yeah, maybe. I don't think I could be as quiet as you even if I tried." You sigh, trying to align your wandering thoughts by force. "I would… appreciate it. If you would let me know when I'm bothering you," you say as succinctly as you can manage. "In the interest of…" Of what? Not catching a cuestick to the skull, mostly. "Mutual comfort."  
His expression doesn't change, but he tips his head incrementally to one side, considering.  
"Very well, then." He turns back to his work. "Stop tapping at your desk."  
Well, at least you were right.  
\-----  
It's been a few weeks, and you're starting to understand Dignitary better than you though you could. He is, above all, efficient. Every word and movement seems to carry more weight than you really thought possible. Reading him has a steep learning curve, and he's not above throwing people from the precipice.  
His temper isn't short, exactly. It's more that his fuse burns too quietly for people to notice, so it takes them by surprise when he blows. You're learning, though. Small things irritate him, smaller things than you ever would have guessed. He dislikes when files turned into him overnight are left in a haphazard stack by people who at least have the wits to only tell him "not my problem" when they'll be in a different post code by the time he might respond. You start coming in just a bit earlier to ensure they're always stacked neatly by delivery time. If he notices (of course he notices), he doesn't say anything about it.  
You tell yourself that it's not a bother, and surprisingly, it's true. You take a sort of pride in being useful, especially when you manage to work out what he wants before he has to ask. It feels good to spare him the headaches. Some headaches, though, keep coming back.  
"I fuckin' told you she wouldn't listen!" screams the headache in question, jabbing a pointy elbow into the door to slam it closed behind him. Dignitary doesn't look up.  
"If you break my door I'm taking it out of your salary again, Jack."  
Jack is his name, Jack Noir, which you think is pretty pretentious. You don't want to say you disliked him from the moment you met him, but slamming a door open into a guy's face will have that effect on a blossoming relationship. He's… sharp. Sharp words, sharp eyes, sharp temper. He's maybe two thirds your height, small even for a pawn, and he makes up for it by packing every single inch of him with as much spite as he can manage.  
"Fuck you and your fucking door, you stuck up dick," he snaps, slamming down a folder on Dignitary's desk. The papers scatter and Dignitary sighs, finally looking up.  
"What were her provisions?"   
"All personnel have to be picked by her," he complains, ticking off on his fingers. "All dropships have to be inspected and have their full contents cataloged before any flights, and I'm supposed to be singularly responsible for all of it." Dignitary notes them down on a spare piece of paper he's clipped to the folder. The rest remain untouched.  
"That doesn't seem so unreasonable."  
"Eat my ass it's not unreasonable," he hollers, and there's a prickling tension building in the air that you very much do not like. "I have enough to do just making sure Droll doesn't blow up the whole fuckin' left wing every time I leave the goddamn idiot unsupervised."  
"I don't think she's terribly interested in your refusal to properly document things, given what happened last time." Jack's eyes narrow, and he quits yelling real quick.  
"I didn't lose that drop ship and you know it." His voice has gone all low and snarly, and you can hear the flicker of threat from his wingstubs.  
"Do I?" Dignitary asks. "That's funny, as I'm quite sure it was your responsibility. One I assigned to you, in fact. Tell the Queen her terms will be met."  
"Up yours."  
Dignitary stands, and you wish you were somewhere else. Outside, or at home, or possibly launched into the sun. You weren't one hundred percent sure if Jack was trying to rile him on purpose, but you're suddenly very aware of pitch pheromones in the air, of the way Jack smiled when Dignitary stood. Oh god they're totally flirting.  
"Jack." Dignitary reaches into his jacket pocket, drawing the Ace of Diamonds from his deck and flipping it to draw his cuestick. Every motion is slow and deliberate, his eyes locked dead on Noir. "I think you should pick up those papers."  
"I think you should try and make me, hotshot." Jack's practical, he came ready for a fight and flicks the Ace of Spades from his sleeve to draw his favorite razor, spinning it eagerly.  
"Bibliophile." You jump, stumbling backwards. You're not sure when you stood up and started easing away.  
"Y-yeah?"  
"Take the rest of the night off."  
You nod but don't answer, bolting from the room as Noir laughs and hurls a few choice words your way. You hear Dignitary's cuestick make contact a second later, with a resonating crack that sends a shiver up your spine. ...Still, you hope he went for the face.


End file.
